


Melancholia

by Swashbuckler



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: (No actual vomiting), Banter, Brotherly Love, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Disabled Character, Deaf Character, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Melancholy, Mental Health Issues, Motion Sickness, Nausea, Shapeshifting, Showers, Sign Language, The Rogues (DCU) As Family, non-verbal episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 12:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swashbuckler/pseuds/Swashbuckler
Summary: Every now and then, the Top hits rock bottom.





	Melancholia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dillonmania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Black Dog Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057686) by [dillonmania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/pseuds/dillonmania). 



> Less a sequel, more a partner piece to ‘Suit Yourself’: Roscoe helped Hartley, now Hartley helps Roscoe.  
> Taking inspiration from DillonMania's "Black Dog Days"! <3

“Fix it,” was the order that greeted Piper when he picked up the phone.

“I’m sorry?” Piper blinked in surprise, sitting up straight in his desk chair. Len huffed at him down the phone.

“It’s Roscoe.” 

_Oh no,_ Hartley thought, panicked. “What’s he done?” 

“Nothing.” Hartley opened his mouth, frowning in confusion before tentatively replying.

“Then what’s the problem...?”

“No, that’s it - that’s the problem - he’s done _nothing_. Is doing nothing. Has done nothing for the last four days. Hasn’t moved, don’t know if he’s eaten - he definitely hasn’t _showered_ in days,” stressed Len irritably. Hartley made a soft noise of understanding, rubbing his face. “Mm,” Len agreed with a grunt. “Look, it’s creeping the guys out, and you can handle him. He won’t listen to me if I tell him to get up.”

“Have you tried?” Hartley asked skeptically. 

“No, I just know he won’t.”

 _I mean,_ Hartley thought to himself, _he’s not wrong, but still-_ “Want me to come over?”

_“Please.”_

“I’ll be there as soon as possible. Wally?” Piper shouted as he hung up, grabbing his jacket. “Can you run me over to Saints’ Street?” 

“Uhhhh, yeah, why?”

“Oh, no reason-!”

“Rogues’ current hideout?” Wally’s cocky voice rose up from the ground floor to meet Piper halfway down the stairs. Piper sighed through his nose, closing his eyes as he met Wally by the door.

“Maybe.” Wally just looked smug.

“Can I toilet-paper it while I’m there?”

“Wally,” Hartley tutted, pulling on his boots. “Don’t sink to James’ level.” 

“Aw, come on!” Wally groaned. “Alright, brace yourself-!” 

Hartley threw himself away from Wally the second they skidded to a halt on Saints’ Street; the Piper doubled over, gagging against a hedge as Wally winced sympathetically behind him.

“The speed still gets to you, huh?” Wally said, rubbing Piper’s back in little circles as he retched. “You’re getting better with it though?” he offered hopefully. Wally suddenly jumped, quickly gathering his friend’s long hair into his hand and holding it back out the way of his face. “Shh, you're alright, you're gonna be okay," Wally hushed, bouncing on his toes. There was an awkward nod from the man hunched over in front of him. “Good, good,” Wally murmured, patting Piper’s back with his free hand. He gave a forced smile and a stiff wave to a woman headed towards them along the pavement. She gave Piper a look of alarm and wasted no time in crossing over to the other side of the street.

“You’re scaring suburbia,” Wally said conversationally down to Piper. He grinned at the shaky thumbs-up he got in reply.

“You good?” Wally asked with a grimace as Piper stood up again, shaking his hair back. Piper gave him a short nod. “You’re still looking a bit green.” 

“I’ll be fine, I just, uhm,” Piper said with a swallow, “might walk home.” 

“Might be an idea,” Wally nodded with wry smile, patting Piper’s shoulder. He shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded at the line of suburban houses, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Well, you know the drill - give ‘em all my love,” Wally teased. 

“Shall do,” Piper breathed, waving him off as Wally disappeared in a rush of sparks. He swallowed again, rubbing his churning stomach as he made his way up the driveway of the house and thumped his fist on the door. When it opened, Piper inhaled sharply and grit his teeth. 

“A’ight, traitor.” 

“Digger,” Piper said carefully as the man leered down at him. 

“Blimey, you look pastier than usual.”

“I got a lift here,” Hartley said curtly. He decided not to waste time by giving Digger time to bait him into a fight. “Cold called me. I’m here to see Roscoe.”

“Oh,” Digger snorted, gesturing to the stairs with his beer can. “Corpse’s upstairs. You can just follow yer nose. Should smell him about halfway up.” 

“Right,” Piper said, not really listening as he wiped his boots on the mat before toeing them off and setting them aside. Digger made a derisive noise.

“Awright, posh boy, no need for all that,” he sniggered. Piper ignored him in favour of trotting upstairs.

 _If Roscoe’s how I think he is,_ he thought as reached the open landing and paused, frowning at the range of doors that branched off from the wide hallway, _he won’t answer if I call him._ Piper stood still, listening to the sounds coming from the Rogues' rooms. He could hear the TV on downstairs, and the sound of water running in the room directly to his right. Piper walked down the hallway, ticking off rooms as he went - bathroom, Mick’s room judging by the rumbly humming, the ‘do not disturb on pain of death’ sign gave Len’s room away - until he came to the room at the very end of the hall, tucked in the corner. The furthest from Len’s room, Piper noted in amusement, and gave the door a gentle tap before trying the handle. It was locked. Piper sighed and fished his keys out of his jeans pocket.

“Nice try, Roscoe,” Piper murmured to himself, raising a thin silver whistle to his lips and blowing. The high whine that slipped from the whistle the Rogues wouldn’t hear, however Piper could hear the shrill frequency and the way the locked vibrated and obediently clicked open. With a self-satisfied smile, Piper pocketed his keys and stepped into Roscoe’s room quietly. Peaking around the door, Hartley could see a mass of something huddled on the bed. As he shut the door gently behind him, Piper - reluctantly - had to admit it: Len and Digger had been right. Roscoe’s room _stank_. The sour smell of sweat mingled with the lingering odour of cold, stale takeout was striving to smother him. Breathing shallowly, Piper padded over to Roscoe’s bed, craning his neck to see if Roscoe was awake, but all he could see was the matted mass of dark hair poking out from beneath the duvet. 

“Roscoe?” Piper ventured softly. “Roscoe, it’s Piper.” 

No response. _Asleep, perhaps?_ Piper wondered, just as the corner of the duvet closest to him was pulled down. Sore, red eyes stared at him from over the edge of the sheet, bruised by tired shadows. 

Piper crouched down, giving Roscoe a tentative smile. “Hey. You okay?” Roscoe said nothing, just stared blankly at him. _Well,_ Piper thought, _at least he’s awake and knows I’m here._ “Roscoe, the others are worried about you. They want to know you’re okay.” Still nothing. But Roscoe’s eyes did flick from Piper to the mess of junk littering his room: there was a pile of laundry in the corner, coffee mugs covered half of his desk, and torn and crumpled scraps of paper were thrown everywhere. Piper followed Roscoe’s gaze, inspecting his room. Piper turned his attention back to Roscoe, looking at him expectantly. Still the man said nothing, just lowered his eyes to stare at the bed sheet less than an inch from his face. Piper tilted his head to the side, eyes soft; he was familiar with Roscoe’s non-verbal spells - Jerrie had them too. It just took patience and care. In the meantime, he could still help in other ways. 

“Roscoe, I-” A noise from beneath the duvet cut him off.

Piper watched as Roscoe’s hand flopped out from beneath the duvet. The man held his forefinger and thumb at a right-angle. L. He curled his fingers round until the tips were touching his thumb. O. He touched his little finger to his thumb and held up his other three fingers. W. Then his wrist went limp, dangling over the edge of the bed as Roscoe continued to stare into space.

“Feeling low?” Piper nodded sympathetically. “I know, man, I know. But I’m here, I can help you a little. How about I tidy your room?” he offered. “You’ll probably feel less rubbish if you’re not surrounded by it,” Piper said firmly, standing up and wincing as his knees clicked. Roscoe gave him a weak thumbs up. 

“Roscoe, do you mind if I open your curtains? Let some sunlight in?” There was a weak noise from Roscoe’s bed that Piper took to be an affirmation, so Piper whipped open the curtains without a second thought. There was a pained noise from the bed, and Piper glanced back to see Roscoe bury himself back beneath his duvet. 

“Sorry, buddy,” he murmured, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of Roscoe’s desk chair, rolling up his sleeves. Right - the dishes. Piper looped his fingers through the handles of as many mugs as he could carry. When he got to the door, he pushed the handle round with his elbow and toed the door open, slipping out. 

“He alive up there?” Len asked gruffly when Piper entered the kitchen, dumping the mugs in the sink. 

“Mmhmm. Depression just seems to have hit him pretty bad this week,” Piper explained. “He’ll be fine, he just needs a pick me up an- Hey, where’s Lisa?” Piper asked suddenly, blinking at Len.

“Gone on a girly trip with a couple of her skater friends for the week - ‘s why I called you,” Len grunted. Piper nodded in understanding. A lack of Lisa in the house definitely wouldn’t be helping, especially not when the rest of the Rogues viewed him with contempt, and vice versa. 

“Right, I’m gonna go get the rest - can you start washing up?” Len made a derisive noise.

“You don’t live here - you can’t get me to do his chores! Can’t you just ‘Fantasia’ the dishes into cleaning themselves with your flute?” 

Piper stuck his head back round the kitchen door, raising an eyebrow at him. “Nooo, but I can always ‘Fantastia’ you into doing the dishes, Len~” Piper said sweetly. Len scowled at him, flashing a rude hand gesture at him as he rolled up his sleeves and snatched a dishcloth from the drainer. Piper beamed at him.

“Thank you, Len~”

“You rat, Piper.” 

Piper trotted happily back upstairs, humming to himself, only to gag when he stepped into Roscoe’s room - he’d forgotten about the smell. Leaving Roscoe’s door open, he stepped lightly over the mess on the floor. When he got the window, Piper pushed it open and stuck his face out into the cool, blessedly fresh air, breathing deeply. Today was not being kind on his stomach, he decided as he rounded up the rest of the mugs and dirty plates and dishes from Roscoe’s desk and ferried them downstairs to Len who was scrubbing at the dried coffee in Roscoe’s mugs with a vengeance. 

“You’re doing great, Len!” 

_“I hate you, Piper.”_

“If you did you wouldn’t be help-ing~” Piper sang happily as he headed back upstairs. 

The stench of Roscoe’s room wasn’t as bad now, but it was still lingering like a haze throughout the first floor. Piper considered fetching the hoover - that was, if the Rogues actually owned one - but decided against it; he didn’t want to agitate Roscoe further with the noise. Instead, he nipped into the other Rogues’ rooms - with the exception of Digger’s (he wasn’t that brave a man) - and opened their windows, leaving their doors open to let fresh air waft through the house. If that still didn’t work, he could always ask Mark to get the wind to pick up a little. 

_What next?_ Piper mused, chewing the inside of his cheek as he looked at Roscoe’s floor. _Garbage,_ he decided, stooping down and gathering up the rubbish littered across Roscoe’s carpet. He stood up, groaning as his knees clicked again, dumping the garbage in Roscoe’s bin. 

“Your knees creaked when you got up. Old. You’re getting old.”

“Hush,” Hartley said reproachfully, but he was smiling now as he turned his head to talk to Roscoe. The man was still bundled in his sheets, but he was watching him, looking more alert.  
“I’m only just coming up to thirty, I’m not that old.” 

“What’s worse,” Roscoe ventured, and Piper could hear the strain in his voice as he dragged words up and forced them out of his mouth, “living with a twenty-year-old or living with a Speedster?”

“I only live with Wal- _oh.”_ Piper snorted. “I don’t think I could separate those two traits at this point.” Roscoe made a noise that might’ve been amused. Piper hoped it was. “It means we don’t have to wait for takeout as he runs and gets it~” 

“Must be nice.” Piper waited patiently as Roscoe mouthed silently for a moment before speaking. “You set the dogs off next door. Their barking is annoying.” 

Piper laughed softly. “Ah, I’m sorry - they must’ve heard my whistle’s frequency when I came in.” 

“Mm.” 

Piper dropped down to his knees, scrabbling to pick up a collection of screwed up balls of paper from beside Roscoe’s desk. Opening one up, he smoothed it out on his thigh, scanning his eyes over the elegant handwriting and blue ink sketches on the page.

“Hey, Roscoe, I found some of your no-” 

“Do not look at those,” Roscoe growled. Piper looked at him, showing him the page he’d flattened out. 

“But you’ve got designs here. Do you want me t-”

“Bin them, yes. They're garbage.”

Piper looked from the once neat designs, now screwed up and crumpled, to the man huddled on his bed. “If- if you’re sure…” Piper said sheepishly. He crawled around the floor, gathering the screwed up balls of paper. He paused, looking from the discarded designs to Roscoe’s bin full of rubbish. Raising himself up on his knees, Piper peered over the surface of Roscoe’s desk until he spotted a rogue paperclip. He reached up, pinching it off the desk and huddling on the floor with Roscoe’s collection of drawings, smoothing each one out carefully. Shuffling the papers into a tidy stack, Piper clipped them together and set them neatly on the corner of Roscoe's desk. He might bin them later, Piper knew this, but just in case…

“I’ll be back in a sec, I’m just going to dump this lot in the bin outside,” Piper said, tucking Roscoe’s bin under his arm as he stood up. 

“Alright,” Roscoe said flatly from the bed. Piper had just made it to the door when Roscoe spoke again.

“Can’t you just play a tune and make this go away?” 

Piper’s shoulders slumped. 

“You know I can't,” Piper said softly. He set the bin down just outside of Roscoe’s door, returning to sit in Roscoe’s desk chair, facing him. “All my hypnosis leans towards physical puppetry over cognitive hijacking. Even if I could induce some kind of hormonal release, it’d be very temporary. It’d probably make the crash afterwards worse than what you’re used to.”

“But the positive effects would make life so much easier,” Roscoe said bitterly, kicking his duvet away from him with as much aggression as he could muster. Piper watched as Roscoe forced himself into a sitting position, pulling his knees up to his chest and glaring at the end of his bed. He looked so forlorn, so exhausted. Piper nodded sadly.

“I know,” he whispered. He took a deep breath - he couldn’t let Roscoe continue to stagnate. He had to get him out of bed - the fact that he’d sat up of his own accord was brilliant. “Right,” he said firmly, “what's next? I’ve dealt with the dishes, the garbage is outside ready to go downstairs-” he clicked his fingers “-you need a shower.”

Roscoe’s head lolled onto his shoulder as he stared blankly at Piper. “C’mon, you’ll feel better afterwards,” Piper insisted, tone encouraging. “You go shower and I’ll clear the laundry out of here. Deal?”

“My washing is not harming anybody,” Roscoe sniffed.

“Oh yeah? My nose begs to differ, now shift!” Piper laughed. 

Roscoe continued to match Piper’s determined gaze with his own hollow stare as he ran a hand over his jaw and his stubble vanished.

“Shapeshifting,” Piper said, failing to stop his bemused smile from showing, “does not count.”

“Yes it does.”

“No, it doesn't!” Piper said, pointing to his bedroom door. “Go shower! Mark left the bathroom a couple of minutes ago, it's free now.”

Roscoe sluggishly pushed himself out of bed, giving Piper a half-hearted glare.

“Fine.” 

“Good man!”

 

He didn’t know how long he’d been sat on the porcelain floor of the shower cubicle. He’d been staring at the steamed up glass, not really looking at it, for a while. A few minutes? Maybe ten? Fifteen? He’d lost track. The warm spray was trickling through his dirty hair and down his face. Everything felt sticky, sat in the muggy heat of the shower. This wasn’t helping. Now he had no energy and felt dirtier than before he'd turned on the water.

Roscoe put his chin on his knees, reaching out an idle finger to trace the shape of a top in the steamed-up glass. He added a couple of stripes to it with a tiny smile. Then he dropped his hand, and the smile dropped too as he rested his head back against the tiled wall.

He hoped Lisa was having a good time. Roscoe closed his eyes, imagining her out laughing with her friends, good skaters, drinking colourful cocktails he couldn’t stomach for the sugar. She could tell him all about it when she came back. He’d have nothing to tell her in return. No matter. He would listen. 

There was a knock on the bathroom door and a voice called through, “Moping doesn't count as showering!”

Roscoe was so close to mouthing if not snarling _“bite me”_ back, but he held his tongue, gritting his teeth hard. Not only would Piper probably hear his murmured provocation, but he didn't deserve it; he _was_ trying to help. Roscoe tipped his head back, staring at the rack of gels and scrubs above him. He could wash. He rubbed a hand roughly over one arm. Grimy, dead skin came away in slimey grey rivets as he dragged his blunt nails along his forearm. He flicked them off under the spray, lip curling in disgust. Perhaps things had got a little out of control while Lisa had been away. 

Lisa. 

He’d seen his groggy reflection in the mirror before he’d gotten in the shower; he couldn’t have the lady coming home to _that_.

Roscoe stood up suddenly, snatching a bottle of shampoo from the shower rack. He cranked the shower pressure up until the spray was thundering against his broad shoulders, lathering shampoo between his hands. _Lisa deserves nothing but the best,_ Roscoe thought to himself, massaging suds into his scalp, a sly smile playing on his face. _Lisa deserves the Top._

 

“Better?” Piper asked with a gentle smile when Roscoe returned to his room, wet hair slicked back and combed, a towel around his waist.

“Much,” Roscoe said. Piper beamed.

“See, I-!”

“Do _not_ say I told you so.” Piper closed his mouth and blushed.

“Sorry. It was going to be encouraging - something to remember for next time if you get low.”

Roscoe arched an eyebrow at him, corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Of course. Now, do I have any clothes left or have you sent them all for fumigation?” he drawled.

“Just the ones that weren’t in your wardrobe,” Piper said, gesturing to Roscoe’s room. “What do you think?”

The carpet was clear and had been hoovered. The books he’d left haphazardly on his shelves had been straightened and stacked neatly. All his dirty laundry had been cleared away, and the garbage had been taken out. The room smelt fresh. Roscoe nodded slowly in approval. 

“I’m impressed,” Roscoe smiled, inspecting his desk. “It’s almost to my standard.” Piper rolled his eyes and folded his arms, grinning to himself as he leant against Roscoe's door.

“Okay, so you’re definitely feeling better.”

“A little,” mused Roscoe with a smile, picking up the stack of notes Piper had rescued and set aside on his desk. He paused halfway through the pile, wrinkling his nose as he removed a single sheet of paper from the set, screwing it back up tightly in his fist, before dropping it in his empty bin. He nodded once, then set the collection of papers back on his desk, smiling at Piper. 

“I couldn’t let Lisa see me like that.”

“You know you deserve good mental health for yourself first, right?” Piper asked. 

“Lisa deserves it more,” Roscoe said firmly, jaw tensing minutely. Piper decided to let it drop, just this once. He raised his hands in surrender. 

“When’s she getting back?” 

“Tomorrow,” Roscoe said straightening his posture and looking happy. “I should really do something, sweep her off her feet when she gets home.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Piper grinned. “See, all you needed was a jumpstart and you’ll be spinning away in no time.”

“Quite. That and I realised I couldn’t let Lisa see me as a complete dog, otherwise she might mistake me for Digger,” Roscoe said conversationally, and Piper would’ve been ashamed if he _hadn’t_ choked laughing. 

 

“Eyyyy, the corpse is alive!” cheered Digger, toasting him with his beer can from where he was sprawled on the sofa in his underwear when Roscoe and Hartley came downstairs, Roscoe now with his hair dried and carefully styled, dressed in a smart green jumper and dark trousers.

“You couldn’t clean him up while you’re here, could you?” Roscoe asked of Hartley, eyeing Digger with disdain. Hartley just shook his head wordlessly, pulling on his boots. 

“Hello, Len,” Roscoe said coolly when Len emerged from the kitchen. “Did you have a fight with the tap?” he asked slyly, pointing to the wet splashes down the front of the Captain’s shirt. 

“My cue to leave,” Piper said quickly, nipping out the door. “I’ll text you about meeting up this week!” he called back to Roscoe as he headed down the drive. 

“Thank you. And thank you,” Roscoe said, nodding at him. Piper waved back.

“Anytime, Roscoe.” 

When Roscoe shut the door, the Top looked down his nose at Len.

“You called him.” 

“Might’ve done,” Len grunted, glaring at him.

Roscoe was silent for a long moment, mouth twisting uncomfortably.

“Thank you,” he finally forced out. Len couldn’t contain his surprise, much to Roscoe’s silent delight. It was always nice to get one over on the Captain, whatever form it might take. “I suppose this proves you’re not so cold-hearted after all,” Roscoe mused at the ceiling.

“Oi, now, hold on, this wasn’t me being chummy-!” Len said hotly, drawing himself up to his full height, jabbing a finger in Roscoe’s face. “I did this for Lisa!” 

“Mm, of course you did,” Roscoe said calmly. 

“Oi, listen to me!” 

“I am hearing you loud and clear, Leonard,” Roscoe said robotically, hiding a smile. “You obviously called Piper to help me for your sister, I understand.” 

“Don’t think this is me being chummy, don’t you da-!” 

“Wouldn’t dreaaaam of it,” drawled Roscoe, waving a hand as he wandered into the kitchen. 

“Oh, shove it!” shouted Len, storming into the living room. Roscoe smiled to himself, tossing an apple up in the air and catching it. Of course Len had called Piper to look after him for Lisa’s sake, he knew that. He approved of that. 

_Still,_ Roscoe thought, lifting himself up so he could sit on the kitchen counter, taking a bite of the apple with a smile, _it's always fun to wind Len up._


End file.
